Kaleidoscope
by The Moonlight's Marionette
Summary: Bya x Ren. Budding artist Abarai Renji is in need of inspiration. Art mogul Kuchiki Byakuya may be able to offer some help, but at what price?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: God soooooo soorry for the awkward bold this was in. I should really look at these things when I post X_X**

Whew! Tell me if this is any good! This is my new Bya/Ren thing. I actually had this chapter finished last week but my comp crashed and I lost it all **. Yeah, I cried, so muuuch effort and time,jeez. But ya know, you've gotta pull through so I got the strength to re do it. It's not the same and I'm not sure if the first was better but meh. This will be about 6 chaps. Updated weekly! (hopefully*cough*)**

* * *

Sunlight.

Bright and undeniably obnoxious, coming in large slants through the bare windows, fell into the sleeping red-head's eyes, waking him long after his alarm clock had fought the battle and lost.

Renji squinted and threw his hand over his eyes to block out the light. It was too damn early in the morning for him to be getting up. He didn't know the exact time but anytime before ten was too early by his standards.

With his eyes properly shielded from the annoying light, he wriggled a little bit, trying to get more comfortable within his discount sheets and his two grades above a sheet of plywood mattress. His consciousness was starting to fade once again. Maybe if he was lucky he could return to_ that_ dream. That wonderfully satiating dream that made his mouth water with desire and his toes curl with sheer pleasure.

He would have her this time. He would feel her spongy softness beneath his fingers. Taste her sweet tangy flavor…garlic sauce…  
_  
Knock, knock, knock…_

The intrusive noise reached him as within his sleep hazed mind as a soft sound… like the water dipping incessantly from a tap…

_Knock, knock, knock…_

Or maybe a bird pecking against his window. But why would a bird do that? Maybe he should consider getting a restraining order against birds?

_Knock, knock, knock…_

Whatever the hell it was it was interrupting his concentration. He couldn't very well slip back into his dream if this kept up and… and…

_BAM, BAM, BAM… _

Renji's eyes snapped open and he literally flew out of bed, unconsciously dragging the sheet with him and scrambling to cover himself. Heart thumping wildly, he looked around to pin-point the source of the noise. Some was pounding – rather ferociously at that – on his door.

"Coming dammit," he slurred, tripping over his pile of clothes that were thrown off yesterday and left in a heap at the foot of his bed, spilling a half full bottle of vodka that he had been saving for when he would need a sedative – it was now an extra stain on the worn, dirty rug – and his paint brushes that he had soaking in a glass of water.

His fingers struggled with the clasp on the door in his sleep haze. He cracked it open a bit and peered through. Cold blue eyes met his in a glare. Several seconds passed in which he tried to blink away the blurriness.

"Wha –"

"Don't fucking 'whaaaa' me Abarai!" Before he recognized the rough voice as his landlord Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, Renji, the chain, splinters off the door and finally the already precariously constructed door itself, found the floor.

He blinked up sleepily at the man retracting his foot and stepping in, hands in his pockets and scowling.

Renji wouldn't say that this man was violent, nope, not at all. He was just your average man-beast that scared the living daylights out of kids and offended old people by just being near them. Oh, and not to mention his tendency for ripping doors off their hinges. But all normal people did that, right?

He was wearing his trademark assemble that made him look more like a crime boss than a landlord. A combination of a black silk shirt, buttoned down and exposing some of his collarbone and chest and grey slacks with suspenders. All ten of his fingers were adorned with large gold rings, his wrists littered with bangles watches (plural) and a thick gold chain hung from his neck.

Even though his face was drawn in a harsh frown – his expression of choice twenty three hours a day – Renji couldn't help but marvel at the attractiveness of his features. Counting his odd choice in hair colour; a bright teal. Renji's heart skipped a beat from seeing his old crush so suddenly and so early in the morning. One had to be prepared in advance, steady the heart and steel the nerves!

Looking down at him disdainfully, Grimmjow's face suddenly eased into a smirk and he gestured with his chin the source of his amusement.

"Tia, one floor down?"

Renji followed his eyes and blushed deeply; covering himself with the blanket he had dragged along with him from the bed by accident to hide his bulging boxers.

He knew to whom Grimmjow was referring. Tia Hallibel, a big bosomed, dark-skinned, yoga instructor who lived on the floor below Renji and was more than likely the cause of lusty thoughts and provocative dreams of the majority of male tenants.

"Cuz I've gotta tell ya, she'd rather piss on ya than even put ya inta consideration."

Renji mumbled something incoherent about steak and inflation soon to be the cause of his death, feeling the heat creeping all the way up his ears.

"Anyway, Abarai, I'm here for the rent."

"Rent?" Renji echoed dumbly.

"Yea, that thing you pay – preferably money, unless you're a woman with something else to offer – in exchange for living in someone else's establishment. Rent, Artist-san." He said this haughtily in a fake business tone, doing a splendid job of mocking Renji in the vaguest of ways.

_Smartass._

_Shit._ Was it Tuesday already? Renji grumbled but reluctantly got to his feet. His landlord was never late to collect rent no matter what the situation. Figures.

"Che, I called ya to fix that damn stupid toilet and ya said ya were_ 'on your way' _four fucking days ago!"

"Toilet's fine," he replied indifferently, looking away. _Yeah right._ _It couldn't be farther from fine!  
_  
Renji threw on a pair sweatpants and begun his hunt for money while Grimmjow invited himself in, eyes searching the surface of Renji's wall, over his various sketches and oil paintings to all the items littered in his apartment, and along Renji's back very briefly.

He could feel the other man's eyes. It made his heart race a little but he did his best to act calm and ignore the little flutter in his belly.

"How do ya know I ain't got nothing ta offer?" he asked playfully, regaining some of usual spunk now that he was sufficiently awake.

"Nothing I'd accept," Grimmjow mumbled with eyes narrowed. Renji chuckled softly. Good thing he wasn't serious. Entirely, anyway. It was just a good way to distract Grimmjow; he never liked it when he thought Renji was flirting with him.

Renji could hear the sounds of the man's shoes as he walked around. Every time he came on the last Tuesday of the month he did this, surveyed the place to see what new things Renji painted or what new item he bought to see if he was just crying poor but had a secret stash.

He commented on anything that caught his eye, and this time it was a small figurine Renji was working on.

"Tha fucks this thing?" His voice was full of mocking laughter. Renji looked back to see him holding it between his fingers, eyes squinted at it. "It's hideous!"

Renji blanched. "It's a thing – I've been… kinda workin' on – sculpting thing..." It was his first try at something new. Maybe he could break away with this, he had thought. He was wrong. All it proved was that he should stick to what he was semi-good at because what had resulted, was a hideous deformed object. He knew that it was bad but hearing someone else confirming it stung. Especially since Grimmjow was like his worst critic.

"Ha! Don't quit your day job, Abarai."

"This _is _my day job."

Grimmjow howled with laughter and disappeared somewhere inside Renji's kitchen, no doubt finding more stuff to criticize like how he only owned two plates.

Renji moved a little swifter now. Grimmjow never shut up if you never give him a reason to. He searched inside random shirt pockets, old jeans he'd worn, bags, even inside shoes to check if any 'accidentally' fell inside. Yeah, really.

Down on all fours, he pushed his hand beneath his bed, his trove of forgotten or misplaced treasure and maybe – hopefully!- money. His fingers made contact with many things, missing shoes, clothes, pizza? something squishy and then what felt like a roll of money.

He pulled it out and smiled broadly when it was. Too bad he'd have to give it all to Grimmjow. Or did he?

And speaking of the devil, the blue eyed man emerged from the kitchen the moment he pulled his hand from under his pillow, nibbling on something gross looking he might thought Renji recently cooked.

"Here." He threw the wad over to Grimmjow who caught it flawlessly even while juggling the purple looking food? he was eating in one hand.

"Keep getting your rent in on time and maybe I'll fix your shit on time. Ever consider getting a real job?" he said, and to Renji's relief, simply tucked the money in his pocket.

"Not but I have considered robbing you," Renji replied, looking him up and down, deliberately taking a fraction of a second longer over his jeweled fingers.

Grimmjow looked up to sneer deliciously, a malicious glint in his eyes, his hair standing on end as if electrified by the promise of a challenge. "I dare ya ta try," he growled.

Renji chose not to respond to this just as he chose to ignore Grimmjow's roving stare raking down his body, measuring him up.

"Heh, something might interest ya in that." He stopped abruptly and kicked a newspaper from the doorway closer to Renji when he turned to leave.

"Know something I don't?"

"Nah. And next time make something better, this shit's hardly edible." He finished with a long lick of his palm and wiped his hand along the corridor wall. Classic Grimmjow.

"Oi, aren't you gonna fix the door?"

"Door's fine," he called without looking back.

"Che" Renji moved away from the newspaper like it had a contagious disease and settled into bed once more. He was far from sleepy at this point, already having been fully awake for more than ten minutes.

He stared up at the pattern of light dancing across his ceiling and drifted over the numerous paintings he had displayed on the walls, not to hide the cracks mind you. Oil paintings, random sketches he'd done, some he had submitted but were bashed, he'd even tried using coal at one point.

It turned out okay in his opinion but _okay_ was not up to par. And in this business, _okay_ was left to die in favor of _fantastic_.

You see, Renji was an artist, a very good one to some and a mere monkey wielding a paintbrush to others, but an Artist he was. Not an acclaimed one or a famous one, but he tried, and honestly he thought his art was good. When he looked at it, he saw all the things he was trying to convey that was apparently lost on others. Being a person who strived to create beauty was a noble and romanticized effort, but unless you got many commissions or had loyal buyers, it didn't exactly pay the bills.

Still, knowing this, it was what he chose. He could never forget the first time he saw the one piece of art that changed his life.

He was eleven years young, doe eyed and oblivious, coming home from school through the shopping district. A gallery was having an opening and it was strictly by chance or some twist of fate that he held his head up and looked to his left, just at that moment. In an alcove close to the show window, in the foreground of white painted walls, surrounded by people, sat the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

It was a painting of fallen angels, crying, faces the exact portrait of despair. He stared for what felt like hours, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away from it. He wasn't even aware that he had been crying until someone had shaken him roughly to ask if he was alright.

He couldn't remember if he had answered or how he had made it home so quickly. All he could remember and still remember, was the intense sadness he felt just by looking at it.

He'd _felt _the painting, as strange as it sounded.

In an attempt to understand why he reacted that way, he started to pay more attention to art and even frequented galleries. When that wasn't enough he tried his hand at a few dabbles of his own, all pathetic. But he wouldn't give up. He wanted to make something inspiring that could evoke a similar reaction from all who saw it, just like that one had done to him.

All other studies cast aside, he devoted his time and energy to art, even attending a school solely for it despite his parent's argument that he should pursue something more suited to him that could also _consistently _support him, like web design, graphics or some other monotonous shit.

After two years at art school he graduated and then…just stopped. Learning to do it was one thing, launching into a career was something entirely different.

It did not going well.

He did a few odd jobs here and there to buy supplies and weighed down by the hopeless fog, he gave into his parents' pressuring about a cooking course; the idea of him in a 2 foot tall white hat serving up exotic dishes thrilling his mother.

After that he worked as an assistant chef in one of those upscale restaurants where they are more concerned with how the food looked rather than how it tasted, if it could even be considered as three mouthfuls, and if they could continue to get away with their high-class robbery.

Who in their right mind would pay over one thousand yen for three shrimp with 'pretty' sauce? Needless to say Renji didn't eat there, unless you counted the little tastes he took when no one was looking.

It wasn't long before he started to notice something.

They didn't jut slap food on a plate and serve it. There was a method to the way things spiraled outward and towered upward, to the creatively unique way it was presented and served that made it somewhat… artistic. That poison arrow struck its mark with precision and he could not let it go.

His photography phase came next. He took pictures of the dishes he created and sold them to magazines. Just a hobby! He insisted vehemently but then he fell again, back into what he had forgotten or at least, what he wanted to forget but couldn't.

He wanted to paint again.

He moved out of his parents' house and bought a flat in this dowdy neighborhood and that's how he got here. None of his work got him the recognition he had hoped and he was stuck living in this shithole of a flat, barely scraping by.

"All for the dream, huh?" he said to himself idly ignoring the stupid newspaper's silent summon. In the spirit of keeping himself busy, he decided to do some cleaning, mainly scrapping everything in sight under his bed. Not long after, his stomach grumbled alerting him that it was past breakfast time.

Breakfast—a cup noodle – was finished in two minutes because who the hell had time to wait three minutes and then let it cool? He tossed it in almost spitting all of it back out when the hot liquid burned his tongue.

"Shit, shit – hot!"

"Renji?"

Over by his doorway with a box in her hand was Rukia, a look of confusion on her face.

"Rukia! Huh? What's wrong?"

"What happened to the door?" she asked, stepping in and around it.

"Door's fine." Renji sighed, repeating what Grimmjow had said to him earlier just as carelessly as it was thrown at him. But his face still twitched when he thought about having to repair it.

Rukia looked back and forth between him and the door but said nothing more about it, already used to things like this when Renji – and no doubt his barbaric landlord – were involved. "I brought breakfast. Hungry?"

"Always!" he replied without reservation, inhaling the sweet aroma of bacon and warm butter biscuits.

She smiled and pulled up a chair at the small table in his all in one living-dining-bed room.

"So…" she began, looking at him with obvious excitement.

"I haven't looked yet." He tried to sound nonchalant, as if he hadn't been waging a silent war of will power with the newspaper all morning. The mere thought now made his stomach turn and he no longer felt hungry. This was always the nerve wracking part, the part where his head felt light and he fought back the waves of nausea.

He submitted one of his works for a gallery opening and the reviews would be in the paper today. Rukia always read them for him, him being too nervous and anxious to do it himself. If it was left to him, he would skirt around all day and never find the courage. It made him thankful that he had her and that she decided to stay even after that disastrous day he had to refuse her feelings after she'd confessed to him.

They were childhood friends, and as much as Renji loved her and would always love her, it would just not be in _that_ way. He flung around his pathetic excuse of wanting to focus on his career – ha! What career?! – and not being on the market for a relationship at this point in his life. Which point exactly he didn't know.

How many times had he said that to pleading eyes?

That wasn't the _real_ reason, but there _was _a reason, buried not so deep inside, but shrouded by a thick veil of denial.

She still stuck around, and for the sake of their friendship pretended like it never happened. Pretended she never poured her heart out to him through emotional sobs. Pretended she wasn't reduced to a crying bundle.

He didn't want to hurt her, she was so petite that she gave off the air of being vulnerable almost fragile. She deserved more than he could provide, he knew, certainly he did as well?

He scrunched his eyes shut as Rukia scanned for the page. A few seconds passed when she said nothing so he opened an eye to see if she was alright. The look on her face when she looked at him said more than words could have.

"Renji…"

All the breath he'd been holding came out in a rush. He felt empty. The half sad, half pitiful look she was trying not to give him made him feel worse. Now that he knew the news was bad, it made it somewhat easier to read. He took the paper from her hands to see for himself.

The critics had a field day with him, calling his work a myriad of colorful words, none of them good. '

" 'Uninspiring', 'flat', 'unimaginative', why tha fuck don't they just call it dog shit and get it over with."

He slumped forward, resting the side of his face to the cool wood. "I hate my life."

"C'mon Renji, what do they know. Your art is great!" She patted his back soothingly. "Not everyone is bound to like it."

"No one liked it," he complained, knowing he sounded bitter.

"Maybe you just need a little help. Look here."

She was pointing at a man in the article right underneath the title _Mysterious Disappearances_ in bold print. A quick read through and he found his name. Kuchiki Byakuya. "So that's how he looks…" Renji had only heard about him but not once seen him. From what he knew, he owned many companies _and_ he was also an accomplished artist with numerous masterpieces to his name. He knew he had to be some sophisticated bastard but he didn't expect him to look like so….

"It says he's looking for an apprentice," Rukia pointed out.

"Not interested."

"What! Why?"

"I don't like him, look at him in his fancy ass suit. Aint nothin' I need ta learn from him."

Rukia blindsided him with her small fist and then pulled his ear. "Idiot! Pride will get you nowhere. Its either you want this or not stop fooling around. He could really help you!"

Renji brain was reeling. Having a lecture screamed into ones ear could do that. Rukia smiled gently, resting her hand on his. "Promise me you'll think about it, Renji."

Damn it, he should have just stayed in bed. He made a mental note to burn his alarm clock and invest in some curtains. Rukia and her big, shiny eyes awaited n answer of some kind. Would she scream again if he said no? Yep, he had a feeling she would.

"Maybe…" he said vaguely, not brave enough to make it any different. She smiled and hit him across the head again.

* * *

**  
Excuse any mistakes it's 2:30 am _**


	2. Rose Red

It took Renji exactly two weeks to find and get in contact with Kuchiki Byakuya. Not that he was a difficult man to find, because he wasn't -- so were the lives of famous people who bought million dollar mansions and were dubbed hot pieces that everyone wanted to know everything about; no privacy to call their own. Yes, Renji knew exactly where he lived after some minimal research. And now that he was checking, he noticed that Byakuya showed up a lot in the papers and on the television. Amazing how he never noticed him before especially given the man's imposing presence.

He was man that could not go unnoticed unless you walked around with your eyes shut, if one wanted it to be put bluntly.

A full seven days was spent procrastinating. Should he, shouldn't he?

He didn't really need help did he? Just what the hell did he go to school for?! Was there anything he could be _taught_ at this stage? Surely there weren't any new colours like, _money-making mauve_ or _billion-dollar blue_ or something that he had yet to discover that explained why he was missing out?

Rukia assured him that it would most likely be something along the lines of a _technique _that he would maybe learn.

What, there was more than one way to apply paint to canvas? Maybe he needed an expensive shirt and one of those puffy napkin-looking things to paint something nice. He snorted every time he saw Kuchiki wearing the stupid things (his favorite next to gloves, apparently).

Three more days was the amount of time he spent inside his bed, withdrawn, too depressed to even fix himself something to eat or to take a shower. It was one of those periods of dark self- loathing that sometimes gripped him like a vice and held him. His only acquaintances in those times were bottles of water – stacked and kept beside him so he wouldn't have to do the menial task of moving to fetch one – and over-the-counter medication that worked almost as well as a doctor's prescription only they made him see purple fish dancing on his eyelids when they were closed and of course they took a couple of idays/i to work.

After that, Grimmjow –bless his soul – finally realized that what Renji gave him was not rent, but a hundred dollar bill neatly folded over sheets of notepad paper. Having already kicked the door down the prior week, he simply stormed right in kicked Renji out of his bed three o'clock in the morning, spewing obscenities and threats.

Renji was still doped up on cheap anti-depressants and couldn't catch the basic gist of what Grimmjow was saying (shouting). Something about a sneaky son-of-a-bitch putting up a tent. Did he mean him?? What tent?

He connected the dots when he was out on his ass with a bag packed with the bare minimum clothes, some paintbrushes, a few pouches of paint and the stupid unfinished hunk of a clay project. Later he'd look back and wonder what the fuck he was thinking. Taking that shit instead of his only remaining money! And even later, he'd be glad he took it.

He then crashed at Rukia's for a few days but he wasn't altogether comfortable with it. It wasn't a big deal. He'd decided to sleep on the couch, but that was after he'd declined her offer to share her bed – she said it'd be no big deal. The disappointment in her eyes was too clear when he said no.

This living arrangement would not work out.

He pretended to sulk for a few days about his bad review until Rukia brought up Kuchiki again. This was exactly what he wanted; an excuse to leave without it seeming like he was trying to escape. Because she was his dear friend and he loved her, but it would be uncomfortable if he stayed there and he didn't want that for neither of them.

He had to borrow train fare (because he would need to catch_ two!_ to get to Kuchiki's secluded mansion) in promise that he would repay her. It didn't surprise him that she refused the repayment, but he still would when his hands landed on a coil.

He took his few possessions along. It would be too long a commute if he was accepted and was still staying with her. She was worried, but he promised her it would work out even though he wasn't sure himself.

If worst came to worst and Kuchiki didn't accept him, he dint think he could face her. He didn't even have a plan for if that happened. Finding a job wasn't as easy as it sounded. It was a pain in the ass, especially for someone who only knew how to paint and cook a half decent meal. And being a chef again did not appeal to him, even if it was to just pay the bills.

He opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh, having closed them to get moment of peace and block out the blurring landscape rushing by the train window giving him a headache.

Was he still even in Japan?

When the train screeched to a halt at his stop, Renji was hesitant to get off when he saw all of the _forestry and greenery _and…nothingness. These kinds of places were where people usually got killed and never seen again in movies.

Why the hell did Kuchiki live out in the middle of nowhere anyway? What was the point? Everyone still knew where he lived.

He looked around the dilapidated bus stop, with nothing but moss and ants for company and thoroughly wished to be back in bed or couch or whatever the hell he could find that was soft warm so he wouldn't be freezing his ass off.

Winter chill was already creeping its way into the September air.

Renji followed a dirt trail through the forest and wished dearly that he would not get lost and eaten by some evolved form of rare animal yet to be discovered in this damn wilderness.

After half an hour or so of trekking, he came upon a clearing with, the largest, most imposing wrought-iron gate he'd ever seen in his entire life. Beyond it more trees, but orderly. A groomed driveway.

He wrapped his hand around one of the black metal bars and pulled. Nothing happened, the gate didn't budge.

The notion of shouting his lungs out till it reached someone occurred to him but he was saved the trouble by a crackling voice coming from a small box at the edge of the gate.

"Name and business please."

Surprised, he just blinked.

"Name and business please," it repeated, pronouncing each word as slowly as possible.

"What?"

"Please state your name and business here," the voice said slower, obviously drawing patience to deal with him. Renji scowled, walking over to it bending lower so his mouth was as close to it as humanly possible without touching it. Upon closer inspection he saw a camera embedded within the surface above the speaker.

"What do you want?" The voice had changed from politely formal to irritated.

"Er, I'm here ta see Kuchiki-san."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"N-No."

What is he, a doctor?i Appointment?/i Renji snorted internally and rolled his eyes at the procedure that was needed to enter a damn house.

"Then I can't permit you in," it sung happily. "Have a nice day." There was a click, like the intercom being switched off.

The wind ruffled the trees, and Renji blinked again.

* * *

The wind got colder as evening drew closer. Renji was huddled in on himself beneath a large tree. The voice did not return, and though he kept shouting into the speaker, there was no answer from anyone.

He felt hopeless at that moment. He'd wasted his chance; he could've at least begged or something, groveled, tried to negotiate.

Rukia wasn't there so he smacked his head in her place.

He was about to crawl back to her house, defeated and humiliated, when he saw a black limo pulling in. Hope renewed in the lifeless brown eyes, he decided to be impulsive without really thinking.

Do impulsive acts require some measure of thought?

The car wasn't driving very fast so he shouldn't have been in any immediate danger, was what he what he thought. The fact is that when he flung himself in front of the moving vehicle, waving his hands above his head, the driver, for some unexplained reason, increased speed and nearly plowed him down.

He rolled out of the road just in time before he became the latest lobster on the menu. The car stopped just short of the gate, and Renji, not to be put off, got up and knocked rapidly at the driver's window. It did not roll down, he was being ignored but he would persist this time because he was sure this was Kuchiki.

"Kuchiki-san! Kuchiki-san!"

Still no answer.

He went around the back and knocked on the window, tinted so he couldn't see inside. After he was tired knocking, banging, shouting and barely resisting the urge to kick, the driver got out and came around the back, subtly pushing him away by opening the door.

A polished black shoe came first, the type Renji only looked at in the fashion magazines he nicked from Rukia when he went to the bathroom. There was a glint on the tip of those shoes Renji was sure no ordinary polish could achieve. Then, out stepped the body said foot was attached to. It could be a spare mirror if one was needed.

Kuchiki Byakuya was no less imposing than he was on television. His ocean blue suit was steamed to such a degree that unless he just left home minutes ago, it would have to be made with some sort of iron in order for it to stay that meticulous for a whole day. It clung to his body only a tailor-made one from the best in the business could.

His neck-tie napkin thingy was stuffed into his shirt as expected, and his gloved hands were folded. Sleek, black hair was pulled into a tight knot at the back of his head, a few stray strands that fell into his eyes the only thing out of place on him. And judging by the look on his face when he swept them away behind his ear, they were going to be brushed into oblivion and back in place in a couple of hours at the most.

He reeked of an aristocrat, eyes bored with looking at the unworthy world, body drawn in as if in scorn of touching anything poor.

Renji decided right off the bat that he wouldn't be intimidated.

"Didn't ya see me trying to stop ya? Ya coulda killed me!" he barked in the man's face. He looked tall on television but in person, he was the same height as Renji and he felt glad. It made it easier to talk to him without feeling too fearful.

"I know."

"They why'd you speed up?"

"To kill you."

"W-What?" Renji asked, incredulous that the man said this rude thing so calmly.

"Are you a reporter?" Kuchiki asked softly, his eyes darting to Renji's hair which he now felt self conscious about. In fact he was starting to feel self conscious about his whole appearance. His wrinkly t-shirt and equally wrinkly jeans spoke volumes about his knack for sleeping in. Not a very good first impression.

"Are you a reporter?" he repeated.

"No—"

"Then what do you want?"

"I'm er… here to see you." An altogether simple explanation, but it was truth.

Kuchiki raised an eyebrow in question. Renji felt a bit awkward about asking out here, not to mention he was cold and he found out by experience that it was harder for people to actually kick you out or deny you when you were in their home.

"About?"

"It's … cold out here. Could we maybe talk inside?"

Kuchiki didn't bother with a response. He stepped back into his car and closed the door. The gates opened loudly with the sound of the metal scraping the concrete, and the driver glided the car in easily.

When they didn't immediately close after, and the car stopped for a moment before continuing up, Renji took that as the indication that his request to speak indoors had been granted.

Wanting to knock the bastard's indifferent face in, he resisted, and was instead grateful that he was allowed an audience.

He jogged behind the car, admiring the trees—withering, or changing their colors with the onset of autumn— and ostentatiously distracting topiary, flanking the very long,i long/i driveway.

If he thought the property was impressive, the house was in a league of its own. A sprawling western style estate which could easily be estimated to have over twenty rooms at first glance. Muted colors of navy blue trimmed with white made it seem elegant and refined, very fitting with his general impression of its owner.

Once again, Kuchiki exited the car and Renji watched it drive around the house and disappear. He guessed the chauffer had probably gone to park it with the other nine.

Even without being further invited, Renji followed him all the way up to his big, gleaming, white front doors, framed by two enormous pillars on each side.

This guy sure knew how to make a statement.

Someone opened the door for him from the inside; apparently he was to touch nothing. Or was that merely Renji's imagination?

Dressed in butler's attire, holding the door open by the brass door knob, was a lean, leathery man with a red and yellow feather sticking out from the edge of his right eye and above his eyebrow. Renji swallowed a laugh.

"Good evening, Kuchiki-shi."

Ah! That voice from before.

"Ayasegawa."

"And who may I ask is this… interesting looking person. A guest?"

"We're soon to find out."

Kuchiki walked in briskly, Renji trailing behind like a lost child. The inside was just as grand as the outside if not more, with a spiraling staircase the first thing to greet any entering person. The lights and many chandeliers were reflected off the white marble floors that gleamed under his feet, the ornate pictures frames filled with what Renji could only assume were Kuchiki's art, and the many priceless looking figurines and decorations.

Kuchiki didn't take the stairs. He weaved his way around it to a sitting room. High ceilings, large windows, expensive pieces of furniture either beige or white – offset by a large red rug (the only piece of color), exotic items here and there. Renji was having a brain meltdown.

Kuchiki settled into an arm chair and Renji was about to do the same but froze when Kuchiki gave him the nastiest look his carefully arranged expression could manage.

Renji knew right away that he was not to sit on the furniture.

_Don't worry. I'm house broken. Prick._

Ayasegawa handed Kuchiki a drink he'd been busy pouring and then stood behind the chair, ever present and curious, both of them waiting expectantly for what Renji would entertain them with. Each moment he stayed here threatened to make him change his mind and just leave. He didn't need this kind of humiliation but he did need money and training. So when it came right down to it, it was either his pocket or his pride.

The latter couldn't pay his bills or feed him so…

"Er actually, I came ta talk to you about, being your apprentice," he said quickly, almost forgetting that he wasn't just barging in but replying to Kuchiki's request in the newspaper.

Ayasegawa raised an eyebrow in amusement while Kuchiki remained unmoved.

"Kuchiki-shi doesn't just take anyone off the street," Ayasegawa pointed out, a little condescending smile flashing across his lips.

"I know that," Renji was quick to inform him. Did he look like just anyone off the street?! Well… maybe but that was still a rude thing to say even if it was true.

Renji, intent on negotiating with the person he meant instead of his_ butler_ he looked to Kuchiki, to find the man looking at him very oddly.

"Are you some kind of artist?" Kuchiki's first question to him was unexpected.

"What kinds are there?" He intended to lighten the heavy atmosphere. It failed and only made him look stupid.

"Yes. There are the ones with talent and then there are the…_others_."

"I suppose I'm one of the _others_ depending on who you ask. A-And that's why I'm here, ta learn from… someone better." It didn't take much off him to say it. It was pretty easy in fact. But something told him that this was not a man who was moved by praise or flattery, but would more likely become offended by it.

Kuchiki, as predicted didn't look the least bit happy and Renji figured his smooth talk wasn't worth a loaf of bread to this person.

For the second time that day, he caught Kuchiki staring at his hair briefly. Was there a bird or some shit trapped in there that he wasn't aware of? He ruffled it out of reflex.

"What do you think of art?" he then asked, fixing Renji with a hard look, and Renji felt himself tremble a bit.

A trick question.

In this situation, it was best not to stutter, so he took his time and for once, gave thought to what he should say.

What did he think of it? What the hell kind of a question was that?

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He was an artist. What was art to him? What did it mean to him? Why did he paint and draw?

"Art is emotion… thoughts… and… wordless notions… brought to life with colour."

Renji blinked. Did that slew of intelligent words just come out of his mouth? Ayasegawa stared opened mouthed, apparently shocked that he spoke human words instead of a series of barks, and then looked to Kuchiki, who hadn't taken his eyes off Renji, penetrating him with that scrutinizing stare.

"Well- that's um," Renji started to mumble incoherently, Kuchiki's lack of reaction making him nervous and feeling he'd said something wrong.

"Then you should know that there isn't much that can be taught?" Kuchiki said.

It was a rhetorical question, and backed Renji completely into a corner. He had already made it so that it could only have one answer.

"Y-Yeah." It was a habit of his to lower his head whenever he felt dejected. Maybe that's why Kuchiki decided to take pity on him, or maybe it was because he looked about at the end of his rope and visibly starved for something.

"It will not be easy."

"Yeah…"

"I have little tolerance for mistakes and imbecilic tendencies."

"Huh?" Wait, was he missing something?

Kuchiki got up and went to stand by one of the many floor to ceiling windows, looking outside –thoughtfully? maybe.

He then looked at Renji meaningfully and Renji got the impression that he was calling him. Don't ask how he knew, he just did.

He went to stand beside him— not directly next to him of course, but next to him while allowing space to make a sudden escape should Kuchiki spontaneously decide to introduce his face to the glass by way of a hand to the back of the head, or should he whip out a ruler and further embarrass him by telling him exactly how close he was allowed to stand.

You could never tell with these types. Awfully misleading they were and hard as fuck to interpret. One minute they're sipping wine on the patio and donating money to charities and the next their dumping their spouses' bodies in the nearest river under the cover of night.

He looked back outside, encouraging Renji to do the same. There was a garden. Renji couldn't see it before because of where he was standing but it was beautiful. A littering of flowers of all colors and designs, more than he'd seen in his lifetime, most he couldn't name.

"The red roses in the center, you are to give me your impression of them."

He was referring to a rose bush in front of the garden, clustered within a mass of colors.

"O-Okay." And just for kicks, he decided to throw in a stupid question. "Does that mean that y-you're taking me as a student?"

Kuchiki – for the most part – didn't glare or give Renji a nasty look. He did the next best if not worse thing; he ignored him completely and moved to go upstairs followed by the efficient Ayasegawa.

"Umm…"

"Ayasegawa will show you to your temporary lodging. Supplies will be provided should you need them."

Temporary? How long was that? A day? Two days? Till he was finished?

"I'll be viewing your work in two days, be sure to be finished by then. This will show me the minimal skill you have, if any."

Renji's smile must've stretched clean off his face. Forget that he was being insulted plainly, he was also being accepted and that outweighed any anger.

"Yes sir! Kuchiki-taicho!" He jokingly saluted the man barking out orders and looking at him only from the corner of his eye. In reality and actuality this man was saving his life, helping him of his own free will and good nature.

Or so he thought at first.

* * *

TBC


	3. Blank Slate

A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter ;(. Life and all that shit. I wanna focus on this now and finish it. I'm looking at 8 chapters. This is sorta a mystery/ suspense thing so look out for hints eh :D. Thanks for reading and putting up with me! Enjoy. I love you! Kay~

* * *

He was swimming upstream, against a current of silky smooth liquid. It put up quite the fight. His legs were growing tired and his arms had stopped completely. _Don't give in_… a voice said. But he was about to. It was useless to struggle, so he should just lay back and be enveloped, right? He relaxed his body, intending to do just that, when something shot out and grabbed him, pulling him up. Out. No! He struggled to stay but whatever it was that held him, did so with meaning.

He fought but lost, and woke up.

His eyes fluttered open, taking in the white canopy above his head. The softness was still there, sucking him in. Could a bed be this soft? No, _should_ a bed be this soft? He entertained himself with ridiculous thoughts of things it could be stuffed with.

Marsh mellows.

Clouds.

Babies.

Fat.

This kept him amused for about an hour or so before he remembered why he was in such a bed in the first place.

This was his chance! He didn't want to make an even worse impression by coming across as lazy, but damn he could sleep the day away… his eyes were closing… on this warm, heavenly soft… No! _Eyes open, Renji._

Okay. Yeah. That was what he needed, a motivational pep talk to keep him alert. _Wake up, Renji! Get up out of this bed! Move your ass you useless sack of shit. You're poor! You smell!  
_  
Considering these were all being repeated in his head, his lack of actual motivation was not surprising. He pulled the covers back over his head. The sun wasn't that high, five minutes more wouldn't hurt.

Two minutes – or two seconds? – later, the sheet was yanked off him in one swift motion that made him jump.

"What the—"

"Pleasant morning to you, Abarai-kun." Ayasegawa-san stood above Renji's bed, the sheet bunched up in a gloved hand while the other hand balanced a breakfast platter with practiced perfection.

Renji, a little embarrassed, as a spur of the moment decision and the longing to feel the highest degree of softness the bed could offer had led to his decision to sleep nude, tried to cover his bits with his hands.

Ayasegawa-san smiled calmly. "Don't you think it's time you got up? Today is a very busy day for you."

Dropping the sheet to the floor, he went about laying out Renji's breakfast on a table by the window.

"Was just about ta," Renji grumbled, retrieving his pants from beside his bed and throwing them on. Ayasegawa didn't look bothered either way. Renji decided not to be offended by this, and chose instead to believe that it was in Ayasegawa-san's nature and that he would act this way had it been anyone sleeping _stark naked_.

He took a quick peep over his meal and noted the eggs were runny (not the way he liked them). The tea was in a fancy little cup. Should he tell them that he hated tea? And the overall presentation was lacking. Maybe he was just being picky. Maybe.

"Excited?"

"No," he replied automatically, still grimacing over his food and trying to find a polite way to refuse it.

"You should be. Starting from today you've been given the chance to be somebody."

"As opposed to…"

"Do you really want me to answer that."

Renji didn't have to think _that _hard about it.

"Best of luck to you, Abarai –kun. I have already laid out your supplies for you in the other room." He gestured to a door connected to Renji's guest room and exited with a respectful bow so forced you'd think you'd asked him to bow to a pig.

Renji was not to be put off by a rude _man servant_. The room which held his supplies – much like his bedroom – was stark white. The plush chairs, the carpet, even the china. A canvas was laid out for him along with paints, an array of brushes, pencils and everything he could or might need.

This efficiency of the _man servant_ annoyed him.

While drinking a mixture of his eggs and his tea, he pondered something that could be missing from the supplies.

Running a bath and then immersing in the fragrant bubbly water, he wracked his brain for anything ridiculous that he could call for that wasn't there.

In the end, nothing came to mind so he set his overworked brain cells to the task at hand; painting a masterpiece for Kuchiki.

Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to bring his camera. He took pictures of the rose bush for those, you know, professional touches, little microscopic details, every variation of colour that he could re-create. It had to be an exact copy down to the minute grain, of the object he was given.

Next, the mixture of the paint.

This sounded easy but in fact took him three days to do. _Red_ didn't just cut it. It had to be the _perfect _red. The right shade that matched the flowers flawlessly and nothing less would do. He mixed batch after batch, lightening it by adding white, brightening it by adding orange or blending it with yellow.

During these days, he was surprised by the tolerable behavior of the _man servant_. Not only did he not bother Renji, ask how the painting was coming along nor condescend his ability, but he brought him food dutifully. How long would this continue till Kuchiki-san get tired and throw him out? He didn't want to ask.

He was shocked to one day find Ayasegawa-san sitting outside his door quite calmly. A poufy settee with cushions cut out in hearts. He'd just opened the door and had one foot out, ready to march into the hallway for a change of scenery and a break from the pressure.

"What're you doing?" asked a very stunned Renji.

"What are _you _doing, Abarai- kun."

"A-Are you spying on me?" Renji asked incredulously. He knew he was a couple days late but shit.

"Heavens, no."

"Then why're you outside my door?"

"Making sure you don't come out."

"Why?"

Renji honestly had begun to question this odd behavior when out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Kuchiki. He didn't look all that suspicious; after all he was walking around in his own home, but there was something about the look on his face when he pushed open an inconspicuous looking door at the end of the hallway that made Renji shiver involuntarily. It was clearly a look that conveyed something uncomfortable. And even with that holier than thou expression on his face, he was clearly sneaking around! Albeit this was in fact his home and he may have easily have been simply going about his business.

At this point Ayasegawa-san moved to stand directly in front of Renji to block his path.

"Isn't there something you should be doing?" Renji asked, annoyed that he couldn't follow Kuchiki with his eyes to see what sneaky-ness he was getting up to.

"I should ask you the same thing," he said pointedly.

They had a glaring match for about ten seconds before Renji remembered that he was a guest and closed the door, thus politely letting the argument be won. He was curious but not entirely stupid.

He would resurface again four days later, after refusing all manner of food except juice and water. He really didn't have time to eat; he had to get this done. Plus he didn't quite have a taste for the food. Not that he could let them know. Did being a chef make him into an arrogant prick when it came to food? Nah, he just had specific tastes.

Bedraggled and sleep deprived, spending a full ten days on a project he was supposed to present in _two_, he opened his door, somehow knowing he would find Ayasegawa-san there, and told him he was finished with a triumphant laugh and a mal-nourished stumble.

It was fairly late in the night – or early in the morning, the sky was already blending orange dawn into the pale blue sky – so had he been expecting to be told to get some sleep and then present his work to Kuchiki tomorrow?

No such thing.

He was to present it now. No time to change the clothes he'd been wearing for days. And yes, he had to carry the heavy easel all the way down the hall to the sitting room where he'd first arrived, by himself though it was delivered to him in the first place.

The expiration of patience perhaps? The worn out welcome? Ah well.

Kuchiki wasn't there yet.

Renji covered the canvas with a white cloth – not rag! _Heavens no_ in Ayasegawa frilly tone – but a clean cloth thank you.

He ran his fingers through his hair and smoothed down his shirt. The clothes were given to him by Kuchiki-san he assumed, but they didn't match his style in the least. They didn't look le things someone like him would wear and they weren't his size. Did they belong to someone in the house?

The t-shirt fitted Renji like a corset and the jeans were far too big and sagged off his hips. It was held in place by the band he used to tie his hair up so his hair was not so artistically wrapped around and pushed under in an inelegant knot. But who cared? He gave his shirt a quick sniff before Kuchiki came in.

He strode in, nose in the air, hair sleek and restrained, suit to rigid perfection. His cold blue eyes appraised Renji's appearance. He had the knack for always making Renji feel inferior or … dirty. Renji thought it was just his first impression and that he may have been wrong, but Kuchiki still wore the same expression when he saw him; of cold disdain.

"Um, so I know that you said two days…" He trailed off but Kuchiki said nothing, his legs lapped and his hands on his knees.

"S-Sorry I took so long. I just wanted it to be perfect."

Kuchiki gave the tiniest of nods and Renji felt his stomach tighten. He was confident. He'd spent a long time on this piece and he found himself putting more effort into it to impress Kuchiki rather than to improve his skills.

He tentatively revealed the product of his hard work, pulling away the cloth slowly as if unveiling a priceless treasure, proud that he managed to accentuate his most striking talent. He always had an eye for colour and if there was anything he was praised for, it was that. He pulled out all the stops, brought out the vibrancy of the flowers to the extreme. The roses, the tulips, the bluebells. He did quite a good job if he did say so himself. He couldn't stop the self-satisfied smirk from crossing his lips.

Did he expect Kuchiki to look happy? No.

Did he expect him to praise him straight out for his excellent job? No.

Did he expect him to not even conjure an expression of some sort? Well, yeah. A normal person would wouldn't they.

Renji felt as if he was standing on needles, Kuchiki wasn't moving, just staring and not at the painting, but at him.

"Um—"

"What is this?"

"It certainly isn't the start of a pleasant conversation," Renji mumbled unconsciously, releasing a nervous breath.

There was an awkward silence swelling, or just awkward for him. Renji averted his eyes to the ground. He could feel the shame painting his face the shade of his roses.

"This is a failure," Kuchiki stated calmly.

Renji blinked and stupidly looked at the painting like someone had switched it with something hideous when he wasn't looking. He tried not to be in the act of self praising, but this was some of his best work here! "What's wrong with it?" he demanded.

"Anything could paint this."

Renji took note of what he said. Any_thing _not any_one_?

"If _anything_ could paint it I doubt there would be a need for _artists_." And there he was, resorting to being rude when he felt insulted. He couldn't keep his temper in check. He worked too fucking hard on this! He put too much effort into this and he wasn't about to be dismissed so easily. Not by this prick and his haughty attitude.

"There is nothing wrong with my painting." Renji gritted his teeth to keep himself from yelling but.

"I can't feel it."

Renji was cold, he was trembling with fury and misery, his fists were quaking at his sides.

"Wha-"

Kuchiki looked at him impassively for a minute before raising a gloved hand and gesturing for Ayasegawa-san whose presence somehow escaped Renji up until that moment. He stepped outside a door and returned carrying a canvas, turned so that Renji couldn't see what was on it.

"Kuchiki-shi also painted the rose bush, although _he_ finished it in the said two days."

Renji was surprised to hear this – the part where Kuchiki painted it as well, not that he had in the designated time – and also chose to ignore the little jab at his lateness.

He was taking his time!

Ayasegawa turned it around in slow, dramatic fashion.

Yes, it was a rosebush as was Renji's, but it was completely different.

Where Renji focused on drawing out every single colour in its entirety to the roses and surrounding flowers, Kuchiki muted all those colours except for his main focus.

The background was a blur, like the rolling landscapes that he passed outside the train window with one solitary rose being the stationary focal point, tinted in a beautiful interpretation of the light at dawn, droplets of dew nestled on the petals and the ones that wilted lay on the ground like a bed of blood.

It was not how the rose bush looked exactly and Renji realized immediately that that was the point of this little exercise.

"Art is not simply to re-create, but to emphasize or bend its perception to your will. You have not done that with this verbatim…"

And he could see how Kuchiki was right. The more he stared at it, the more it became clear. There was something distinctly… sad about it. The distorted background emphasizing the wilting of a beautiful red flower. He could _feel _it.

A colourful empty shell. That's what his was. He knew this now, but there was also something empty and bitter about Kuchiki's work.

Cold but beautiful.

And Renji's couldn't compare, in no forms or fashions.

So this was what he meant about feeling art. Renji could feel the sweeping sadness and also an odd, eerie foreboding.

It sent a different kind of chill running down his spine as Kuchiki's eyes locked on his.

The next two days were bad in every sense of the word.

The headache for rejecting food had caught up to him and floored him. Literally. The lack of food coupled with the dismissal of his masterpiece made him woozy. He made it back to his bedroom but the bed was out of reach. He collapsed on the floor in a heap and stayed there until Ayasegawa, who was staked out outside his door but apparently not for his well being, came in to change the linen and saw his sprawled out form. He informed the other maids and they – excluding Ayasegawa – helped him to the bed.

He ate some soup like thing that had enough garlic to take out two fully grown and unsuspecting vampires should they consume it, and bread that was probably too stale to feed to birds, pigs or any animal which chewed food, so… a snake maybe.

If the rejection of his very being from Kuchiki didn't kill him, starvation or depression would beat it to the punch.

He couldn't move, didn't want to move. Didn't want to think.

What was he doing?

Could he really call himself an artist?

Could he really say he could create art for a living with the state that he was in? Was he over thinking it? Underestimating it? Wasting his time?

His cell phone vibrated beside him on the nightstand. He ignored it. It vibrated again. If possible he would have liked it to spontaneously combust. A voice at the back of his mind told him to check it just in case it was an emergency. He hated to be interrupted while wallowing in self-pity.

He'd received text messages. Seven to be precise. Six from Rukia all telling him to do his best and cheering him on, boosting his confidence up the best she could.

And one, surprisingly from Grimmjow, so eloquently put, _heard you were trainin, maybe now you'll be good. Don't slack off. I'm expectin my rent money.  
_  
They were all rooting for him, expecting great things from him

Renji couldn't describe the feeling clawing up his chest but he had the sudden thought that maybe he wouldn't have failed if he could have painted it.

Maybe that was the secret to it. Painting emotions instead of objects. Come to think of it, isn't that what he told Kuchiki-san he thought art was. How stupid to not take his own advice.

He hadn't been kicked out and he was still being held prisoner so he guessed that meant Kuchiki still wanted to teach him. Maybe he had the wrong idea about the guy. He wasn't so bad after all. Or so Renji thought at first.

* * *

Chapter 3 - Next week hopefully :D


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